look who's blogging again

I cannot tell whether being candid has become an art like the sort of film still that reveals a person's most intimate moments, or if I am just lacking in tact for the most part. I imagine it is the latter, but only because I am somewhat modest.

Truth be told, I was sitting on the toilet seat on the cellphone with my mother while we talked about the death of Anna Nicole & how her life had been a living hell - lawsuits left and right, one dead son, divorces, her nightmare family. 'That woman,' my mother said, 'went through so much. She is probably in a better place right now.' It is easy to think that because someone is involved in the sex industry that the person is expendable, particularly when one's record is not to clean, and it's hard to come away from that, to move toward getting better and to make the effort and to try to meet tragedy head on. I thank God that I have always had good people who love me and who care about my well-being.

It is nine pm & today what has been most on my mind is that which is on my head: hair. God, I had the most disappointing haircut today. I cannot express how disappointed I was, I can only say that I cried and fortunately my desk in the office is placed in a fairly private area.

I understand that what I want from my relationship, or at least as far as the ceremony is concerned, is something non-traditional and seemingly unromantic. People generally don't think of signing papers at a courthouse as the ideal way to get married, I guess. I really am not a white wedding dress walk the aisle with bridesmaids (don't have lots of girlfriends!) sort of person. That being said, I am not without my notions of romance. What I wanted, honestly, was to have such nice hair and I had been growing it out for that purpose, & to have a short dress with short sleeves & a rounded collar, offwhite empire waist with my brown maryjane sort of shoes & we would walk off hand in hand and then ride to a hotel and spend the night holding each other and I would wake up and stand on the balcony & drink hot chocolate and turn to see him asleep with head on white pillowcase sinking into the bed.

I keep feeling that my image is just breaking apart piece by piece. It's been impossible to find a dress that is even close to that which I want, and now my hair is a total disaster. My hair is like, Roseanne meets Pat Benatar & I don't care who says it is cute, I am twenty five & tired of being cute. For once, Christ, I just wanted to be pretty. I keep telling Paul 'I am too young to rely on personality alone.'

Maybe I could pull off trying to look like Bebe but without that spunky of hair. I am having a twelve year old overdramatic 'My life is over' day. At least I got my Holga. I added a picture to show everyone the mess that is my hair. I could be Janet in a Three's Company remake. My life is over.

-Monique